


Fresh

by DaysWereBoring



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: AU, Accidental Voyeurism, And That's Where The Fun Really Begins, Boarding School, But Not The Other Way Around, Caught in the Act, Eggsy Remembers Harry, M/M, Merlin owns a sex dungeon, Military, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Shower Sex, ageswap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-03-18 16:28:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3576159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaysWereBoring/pseuds/DaysWereBoring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An elaboration on Harry's past and present- with a twist. Harry is the younger one. Eggsy teaches him the ungentlemanly qualities a spy must have.  I'm used to writing short poetry, so there will be a lot of short chapters!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I usually only do poetry, so this will hopefully be my first successful attempt at long-form fiction. These updates may come in chapters or paragraphs, whatever I have time for. It will be a bit until Eggsy comes into the picture, but I can make it worth the wait! I am very excited to be writing for the Kingsman fandom. I haven't had a proper muse since Sherlock. Anyway, hope you are ready for something quite a bit different. I'm still puzzling through the details of their relationships, so any suggestions are welcome at this point. Anyone interested to Beta and Brit- Pick?

Harry’s eye twitch-twitched at the gnawing, the fiendish prickling of wood, snap snapping, inches away from his ear. 

His heavy sheets dragged against his legs, like angels pushing him pack to bed. His legs swung over the mattress, feet resting on the scratched old floor. He could not look at those scratches. They were his, after all. 

The dark door that hid his past sex abuse would stay shut. The ground he was laid out on was the same one that helped him stand tall and face another day that didn’t want him. No amount of counseling could have taught him what he found for himself, blinking away the lies and embracing his own body and it’s daily realities. He opened the dumbwaiter and dropped in his sour-smelling underwear spent from a night of healthy dreaming and huffing sweat answered by the glistening of stars outside his window. The Merc was drifting down the hill, morning fog playing tag with the headlights headed for the Firm. He reached up and rubbed his wrist, leaning it against the dresser. There was a checklist and nothing else on it. Sleepy eyes passed over it left and right. He spun around to the shower and twisting through the drain the night help could be heard exiting to their cars, all parked “respectfully” outside the neighborhood, per mother’s orders. When he re-entered his own room in his red bathrobe, the rats in the walls were there to greet him. His lips twitched as his whole body mirrored his grimace for one second. He was fourteen today. His birthday present was an empty house for an entire day. He would relish it.


	2. The Killing Scheme

Harry's breath hitched before slipping on the breathing mask. Michael looked over expectantly, it was his formula after all. The slide of powdered latex over their sleeves, and Harry lifted the lid of the green cooler. Michael brought out at tube of liquid. It stuck to it's glass chamber like syrup, angrily clear as it was. Outside, under that damned tree, there was a rock circle with a Bunsen burner in the center. A metal cage framed the flame, upon which was an ordinary black pan. 

Michael's eyes were sincere. He knew there were no rats in the walls. He had his own rats, and he knew where they came from. How they were bred. 

Michael ladled the substance into the pan. As the vapors rose, the boys became what they were. Very small children. Maybe tears were shed. The gas masks betrayed nothing. The rats were squeaking in the tree, it's leavings wrinkling brown and savage in decay. Their nails wreaked havoc on their palms, but they found calm in each other's. Black they drooped. Fat with despair and great in number they were, fell from poison with writhing thuds. 

The fumes were spreading. Chunks of wood steamed then disintegrated in ashes cascading from the siding, the drywall. His room was eaten, and the boys remembered that they knew what that felt like. If one screamed, the other was too busy screaming themselves to notice. His father's housecat crawled out of the bushes. It's every step was labored, and it was making wet mewling sounds. Limping, flesh exposed leaving a vapor trail. It never saw the end coming. Harry Hart descended on it and put it out of it's misery. He felt a calm wash over him as the wind stole the warmth from his bones. He breathed freely through the tube, lungs unchained. His room melted away, the top of the living room was showing. Harry was on his knees, smiling and laughing. Michael hung on his shoulder, exhausted, and perhaps scared for the other boy's health. He had just ripped his own cat apart, after all. They knelt together, looking at the house. The last of the gas burned, and the flame went out. 

His mother, Roxy Hart, didn't come home that night.


	3. Brush With the Mortal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bring forth the processions of death breaking forth to new life

Now that the house was a toxic shell, there was nothing that the help could safely clean. The house was condemned and later demolished. Galahad's mission was to find the boy, the only living relative of his longtime partner. He sure wasn't in this pile of rubble. But he would be found. He never let a mark slip through the cracks.

Harry turned in his spelling test to the teacher. Sat in his desk for the next two hours, just breathing and meditating and pretending to take in the lesson. He was FREE! Michael's mum didn't seem to mind him staying over. She had a shed out back where Mr.Cross had lived when Janice couldn't tolerate his drunken rage and Douglass needed "his own space away from the constant nagging". After he had died in a car crash, the shed had plenty of room for a growing boy. He also had some ideas how to improve the furnishings, of course. The three of them dined for the first time at the same table, immaculately set. This life of convenience he'd seemingly fallen into wasn't a coincidence, it was by design. The moment he met Michael, learned where he lived, how well he lived, he knew he had a way out of his torment. He needed a way to leave the house with rats his father left behind, It was a nice house, a comfy living arrangement, but it just wasn't one he could live in anymore. Michael understood that. He understood even better when Harry told him about the sensitive and small explosive device he'd laid in the braking mechanism on Michael's father's car. Kids stuff. He knew from birth he'd be a killer. Just how a boy should be, his father would say. It was grief and doom just thinking about it. Frankly, that was just his old life and he didn't want to think about it because it hurt. Harry didn't know what he'd do when Mum got back. It would be nice if she didn't. He wouldn't have to go back into his old life.

When the bell rang at the end of the day, the boys took the bus home together. They got dropped off in the middle of town so they got fries at the McDonald's restaurant on the way home. It was a pleasant conversation. They actually laughed and discussed the new living arrangement.

To get to Michael's townhouse, the boys took a shortcut through a nonthreatening alleyway. Harry took the lead, partly because of his long legs and partly because he didn't like being in alleyways. Michael brought up the rear, but passed him when he slowed down. There was a basement window with light leaking out from it. And it was open because... steam was coming out. No living blooded boy could ever pass up a shower window. There were voices drifting out with the steam.

"I don't know how we haven't met before. I never got it as good as I did with you. And as for that favor you wanted... consider it done. Now come here. Make me see stars."

This sounded like some rich bloke entertaining a lady. It seemed like she needed something from him and was using her body. Harry started pawing over his pants, and looked in the window.

"A-ah!" Galahad was working over his other mark just as he was trained. He lightly brushed his lips against his mark's collarbone. He braced his hands on the man's arms and thrust again. "Oh, this is a treat", he hissed. "you were made for me to fuck you."

Harry's face got hot. This wan't what he expected. He forgot to breathe. He felt funny. And odd. Not at all like himself. He looked down the alleyway, Michael long gone, which he thought was odd. He backed up a few steps, unsure of what to do. As he turned around where he had come from, he jolted out of his skin. A black form blocked his exit.

"You there!"

It was a copper. What does he want now? Harry thought.

"What were you looking at back there?

His head reeled. No way was he getting a cop to look at that. He spoke, in his loudest voice. Hopefully that would get a message to the occupants to move on or be discovered.

"Um, I just saw something shiny in the dark, that's all. I-I'm interested in security systems, so I wanted to see it."

"We'll see about that. Either you're a budding thief, voyeur, or you're telling the truth. We'll get to the bottom of this, won't we?"

Harry surged forward.

"Sir, really, it's nothing. I swear."

The copper brushed him aside. Down in the dark basement window, a red light from Eggsy's signal watch flashed on and off through opaque glass. They had kept each other's cover without ever meeting. How quaint. Eggsy entertained his mark in the other room and Harry ran the hell out of the alleyway to Michael who was waiting.

 

When they got to Michael's house, though, there was no door to unlock. Harry jolted, and his stomach twisted in fear. Michael took steps backwards, then reached into his backpack. He handed Harry a hammer and he brandished his own boxcutter and bottle of mace like a proper paranoid genius boy scout. 

They found Michael's mother dazed and staring ahead blankly on the floor with her back to the sofa. They stood in front of her, curious and worried. Her head lolled to look at Harry. She handed him something.

"Harry, your mother is dead. A man came here. I thought he was a salesman. I didn't let him in, but he came in anyway. Harry, I think he's looking out for you. I think your mom was into something serious. The man told me to not tell anyone your mum died. He said he couldn't even tell me how he died. He just gave me the number on that medal and said to call if you ever were in a spot of trouble. He said on the line you should say "give me a bit of the secret sauce", and they'll put you through." She had a small smile on her lips when Michael said

"Mum? What are we gonna do about the door?"


End file.
